You've probably been saying to yourself, "Where did that Laundry Girl go?"

Or maybe not.

Maybe the Internet collectively rejoiced and was all, "Yes! It's about time that annoying girl left the blog world. One less harpy on the Internet, yammering about nothing."

(Actually, I wouldn't mind being called a harpy. It's a fun word. Maybe I'll tweet Justin Timberlake and suggest Harpy for his baby. We all know how celebrities love to bestow their offspring with names like Rancid and Muffin Top since they're the special people and normal names are beneath them.)

Or maybe you're saying right now as you read this, "You left? Huh, didn't even notice."

No matter your reaction, the fact of the matter is I did walk away from blogging and most social media and if you missed me, thanks for noticing and I apologize for ducking out of the Internet with nothing but an Irish goodbye.

It wasn't some abrupt decision, I just sort of drifted away because I had a little bit of this and a lot of that going down In Real Life and all those big and little things took up most of my spare time. I kept meaning to come back here. I really did. But I'm sort of a slacker, if truth be told and tomorrow bled into a year of tomorrows and, well, that's it. So, I'm very sorry.

But enough apologizing, let's talk about something more important. The Grammy's.

I know. You're thinking, the Grammy's? What is wrong with this harpy? The Grammy's were a thousand years ago.

Yes, I realize, I'm a day late and a dollar short on the Grammys. And actually, I'm much more than a dollar short, I am what you would call cash poor in the kitty. Meaning, my wallet which is covered in a montage of cats is depleted of cold, hard cash and that is because of the one thing I am in abundance of—daughters.

Daughters are straight up hard-core thieves. They steal everything I own. Clothes, jewelry, makeup, shoes, cash, even my restaurant leftovers. They have no shame. On one occasion, I had a daughter take the shoes right off of my feet because they were perfect for her outfit. And those girls seem to think my cat wallet is their personal free ATM.

So I gave up a long time ago on having cash.

But I started this post the day after the Grammys and now it's nearly 300 years later and I'm still trying to get this done and I'm too invested to just leave it in my "Stuff I never finish" file.

And this is exactly what I'm talking about, the big and little things, they're life sucking, man.

So yes, I am posting about an awards show that happened over a month ago. Promptness is not my strong point.

Let's get started, shall we?

First off, there was the red carpet.

And Giuliana.

Who was in a heaping bucket of hot water recently over a comment she made about some Zendaya chick's dreadlocks at the Oscars.

During the show, Fashion Police, she cracked a crappy joke about Zendaya smelling like patchouli oil or weed with those dreds. This one stupid joke, which wasn't even funny, started a holy war with Zendaya taking offense and people with dreds taking offense and hairless people taking offense and Kelly Osborne taking offense and Billy Bush becoming offended that Kelly had taken offense and Ozzy Osborne getting so offended at Billy's offense of his daughter that he told Billy to stop acting like a little bitch and threatened to put his foot up Billy's ass. And Kelly becoming so offended by everything, she quit the Fashion Police. And then, Kathy Griffin joined the ruckus by claiming she was so offended because she doesn't like making fun of people (whaaaat?), that she quit the show. And now Fashion Police is in hiatus which essentially means, Buh Bye, Fashion Police.

All over one lame joke.

In the wise words of Joe Pesci, Okay-Okay-Okay, everybody calm down.

First of all, everyone needs to stop being so oversensitive about every stupid thing that comes out of people's mouths. We all say dumb things at one time or another. I'm the Queen of Open Mouth Insert Foot. The point is, most of us are nice and don't have malicious intentions, imperfect but nice. So everyone needs to stop acting like a PMSing 14-year-old girl and calm down.

Which, if you've never been around a PMSing teenage girl on a rager, I pray you never experience that sort of satanic manifestation and if you do know of what I speak, God Bless You.

Second, the show is called Fashion Police and if I am not mistaken, the whole point of the show is to police fashion. Duh.

Third, I'm pretty sure no one watches this show anyway, so who cares.

Fourth, if Joan Rivers had said the same thing, everyone would have said, "Oh Joan!" and laughed and laughed and then been on their way. And that would have been the end of Dredsgate.

And fifth, Ozzy is the man.

Giuliana has since apologized so everyone in the world, please calm down.

Now about that Giuliana. I find her name terribly annoying in terms of the vowel placements. I keep putting the i's and the u's in all the wrong places. No offense to all the weirdly spelled Giulianas of the world. Calm down, everyone.

Also, why isn't anyone force-feeding Giuliana some fettuccine? She is a human bobble head. Look at how she's all covered up on her arms because she doesn't want anyone to notice she has replaced her limbs with twigs.

I've got three words for you, Giuliana of the complicated vowels—nacho cheese dip. That'll turn those twigs back into real woman plumpy arms in no time at all. I speak from experience.

And why is she even on TV? Who is this twig-limbed, dred-hating, bobble headed woman with the hard name? Seriously. I don't understand her celebrity.

Now enough of her. I'm tired of spelling her name.

Let's talk about red-carpet stand-outs.

Madonna.

Madonna used to be my favorite fashion icon on the planet. I'm talking the Madonna of Papa Don't Preach and Holiday MTV video glory days.

Back then, I had rhinestone encrusted Wayfarers and bracelets lining my arms, rosaries around my neck, (sorry Lord) and crop tops because I once had jutting hipbones.

And if there is one piece of advice I'd give girls of today, it would be to show off those hipbones every single second of the day because once they go into hiding, they're not likely to ever show themselves again.

I know. Not very feminist advice, but it is the truth of all women. I'm sure even Gloria Steinem misses her hipbones.

But that was the Madonna of the 80's. The Madonna of today just needs to Stop. It. Now.

Senior Citizen Material Girl is so fixated with looking young and desperately trying to stay relevant that it has gone past the point of ridiculousness. It's now just plain icky.

Elton John and she have been feuding for years. And, I for one, would never engage in squabble with Elton because I am certain that queen can beat down anyone in a war of wits and words. One time he called Madonna a fairground stripper.

A fairground stripper.

That is, hands down, the most fabulous zinger of all time.

A few years back when she was flashing her ta-ta's at all her concert shows, Elton said something akin to, "No one wants to see a 54 year old boob, Madge. Put it away."

And he was right.

I felt just like Elton when Madonna was doing this on the red carpet.

No one wants to see your 56 year-old-ass Madonna, no matter how taut it is.

In fact, while we're at it, I don't want to see anyone's ass. I am so tired of seeing Kim Kardashian's lard ass and everyone else's ass all over the Internet. It has gone beyond ridiculous. We might as well rename the Internet, the Assnet, with the way everyone feels the need to post all their ass selfies. What is with that and all of my favorite sites these days, (I'm looking at you, TMZ) plastering their pages with ass photos? Is the Internet now being run by the 12-year-old boys of the world? I am so tired of looking at ass. Please, everyone stop it. Right now.

But we were talking about Madonna.

And her old lady ass that no one wants to see on the Assnet.

And certainly no one wants to see an over-the-hill-pop-star-trying-too-hard-old-lady matador. That's for sure.

And get yourself some sensible boyfriend jeans with some sensible cute wedges and maybe a little boho top from Anthropologie. It's time to stop fighting this ridiculous fight. You're the only one who thinks you're edgy anymore. Quit killing yourself with three hour workouts just so your triceps won't continue to wave after you've stopped waving. Stop eating your macro-glutenless-vegan-raw-paleo stupid-ass diet. Accept the inevitable. Three words for you—Nacho Cheese Dip. Your life will be happier for it. I promise.

And all you special diet people, calm down.

Then there was Sia. Come ON, Sia.

When asked why she hides her face in such bizarre ways and why she performs with her back turned while stars and little kids do interpretative dances of her songs in leotards, she says, "Because I can."

Well I can do a lot of things too, Sia, in my big life. I can go to the grocery store in my matador outfit and moon the bagboys. I can grow my bangs out like Cousin It and order from the coffee guy with my back turned while my kids pantomime my order to the barista. But I don't because we all have a responsibility to be NORMAL to one another. Oh, that's right, I forgot, you celebrities have special rules. Do you like the name Harpy for a child, Sia? Go ahead. Use it. You have my permission. I'll let Justin and Jess know it's taken so maybe they can name their kid May-O-nnaise. Emphasis on the O.

Oh, Rihanna.

Were you on crack when you picked this one out, Rihanna? Or did you just never get a Barbie cake when you were little? When the two-year-old girls of the world collectively shriek in utter joy at the sight of you, you KNOW you've made a bad fashion choice.

Gwen Stefani. I'm just a girl, the most fabulous girl in the world. Oh, how I love Miss Gwen and her always bad ass fashion and red lips. She is Muy Bonita!

Pharrell Williams and his wife. What?

Now, let me just say I love Pharrell, like as much as I love peanut butter pie, but what in the ever living hell is this? Do you think he just rolled over in bed one morning, nudged his wife and said, "I got it. I'll go to the Grammys dressed like a toddler going to Easter church service and you can wear some Nike onesie pajamas." Bring back the hat, Pharrell is all I'm sayin'.

And here we have Zendaya of the Dreds without her dreds. I want to marry this whole look. Her dreds are beautiful, but I love this fairy-girl hair, (pixie cuts rule) and I am lusting over that dress. I wish I had one of those 3-D printers because I would seriously print out that dress. Who cares about legalities. That dress is the schizz.

Taylor Swift. Utter perfection.

Don't you feel like Taylor is finally back in everyone's good graces now that she's a pop star and shaking it off? Which, she should be in everyone's good graces, mainly because she IS NOT MILEY.

I have always loved this girl. She writes her own songs. She manages her own company. She is nice. She doesn't twerk or tweet out pictures of her va jay jay. She doesn't post ass pictures. And she's pretty darn witty and smart. She had a bad run of it for awhile because the world along with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were making fun of all her angsty songs about old boyfriends. Which hello? In my 20's, if I'd had her kind of song power, my songs would have been a lot less dignified. "Dear John, you're a douche. And I hope you get herpes." Would be the name of my song.

I can't. I just...no. Who is this?

Kim Kartrashian or a Bratz Doll, I'm not sure which.

How did this happen, America? How did this classless lard ass wannabe become the person most likely to break the Internet? Is this our first plague? You know, all those plagues that are supposed to signify the beginning of the Apocalypse? It's the Kardashians, isn't it? They're our first plague.

Thanks a lot God and Ryan Seacrest.

This outfit looks like my robe. Seriously. My robe is a button up flannel sexy thing and I've lost all the buttons except for the one in the middle, so yeah, that is essentially my robe there on Kim. And I know what you're thinking. My husband is one lucky guy. And you, Internet, would be right.

So, that's a wrap for the red carpet.

I've decided to break this one blog post that took me 300 years to write into a series of posts, because it's so lengthy, you would all get blood clots from sitting for the ten hours it would take to read this and I honestly don't want to be responsible for that many deaths. I mean, I feel guilty when I kill a bug, so go ahead and read this short little post and then do some jumping jacks. I'll be back in a few days with Part II.

It's good to see you again, Internet.

Today's Definite Download: "XO" from the Queen. Beyonce's sugary sweet pop anthem is usually not my thing. I like my music sometimes dark, sometimes thundering, sometimes folksy, sometimes quirky and almost always alternative and off the beaten path. I do love Beyonce's latest album. (more on that in part II) It's experimental and edgy and weird and shows a lot of rawness from the very private Beyonce. This is her most radio friendly tune off the album and it's just a delicious swoonworthy song. I love it. You can check it outright here.

12 comments:

Omgawsh girl, I thought you had gone all sophisticated on us with your new wine digs and all, and simply left us, your bloggy besties behind in the dust.Love ya always.And ohgawwwsh, did you call these. Oh yeah baby.

Welcome back, Joann. I am just a lurker but I love your blog. I was just checking one more time before pulling the plug. OMG, I can see what I would have missed. Though I am commenting before reading, I know it will be wonderful as usual. Please don't go away again. You brighten lives. maggie

Thinking up good names for celebrity babies has all the makings of a great drinking game. I'll start. Fawn Una Kardashian. Has a ring to it, right? Plus it will look so classy monogrammed on black satin sheets. Oh! And I forgot to tell you I switched to WordPress. Because Blogger finally broke me. And I said suck it blogger I'm out of here.